The Juliet Suite
by MurasakiNeko
Summary: Juliet's point of view for several important scenes in the play, set to music by Evanescence Before the Dawn, Whisper, and Even in Death they fit REALLY well. Juliet's POV.
1. Before the Dawn: Act III, Scene V

I am neither Shakespeare nor Evanescence. If I were, I would be either a lot deader or a lot richer than I am presently.

* * *

"Bid him come to take his last farewell."

Nurse hurried out of the chamber, for once matching her pace to the intensity of mine. I turned to the balcony, from where I had so recently spoken to him. It had been but nights ago, but I felt I had lived an age since then.

_Meet me after dark again and I'll hold you._

I felt myself drawn to open door, my heart sharp with the pain of yearning. How long would it take before he arrived? Every minute killed me the more.

_I am nothing more than to see you there._

The sun was just beginning to set beyond the fields bordering Verona, casting the city rooftops into a dry, golden glow. My own orchard was growing dim with the sunset light, the trees casting the pleasant shadows that would keep my love hidden from the eyes of those that would kill him. I only prayed that no one would see him before he entered the orchard, for this time it was not merely my family but all who were his enemies.

_And maybe tonight,_

I drew up to the balcony. The breeze was coming in from the outside, whisking my hair and skirts away from my face, blowing in from the night sky as I wished Romeo would fly in from his hiding.

_We'll fly so far away,_

I waited.

_We'll be lost before the dawn._

He came. There was a rustling of bushes, and, hidden in the mist of the now-dusky night, I could make out his figure approaching just beneath my balcony. I seized the cords, and in a fluid moment of pure unthinking action, let them fall to him. He rose, slowly, moving as in dreams, every moment an age and yet so succulent in anticipation.

_If only night can hold you where I can see you, my love,_

He climbed over the top and leapt from the ledge of the balcony, and then wasted no time in pulling me into his arms. All that I had clung to for the past few hours rushed back to me, sending tears to my eyes: his scent, his touch, his very essence. He was breathing hard—he must have run—and he feverish brought one trembling hand to my waist and one to my chin, which he lifted so that he could plant his lips on mine. I kissed back, as hard as I could, wanting to absolteuly dissolve into him. It was so much like the first time, but I knew it was nearing the last time.

_Then let me never ever wake again . . . _

After a moment, we drew back, gulping in heavy breaths. Romeo seized my hand, so aware of the time and of his passion. I followed.

_And maybe tonight,_

He turned me gently and sat me on the bed. I met his eyes and carefully leaned back, trusting him, knowing what was coming.

_We'll fly so far away,_

Everything around the two of us disappeared. The sun had set and night wrapped around us like a cloak. We were gone to the world but ourselves; we were the only two in our world. It was no longer the earthly world, either. We were in heaven.

_We'll be lost before the dawn._

It was broken too soon by the shrill call of a bird. Night dropped away with a crash, a spluttering return to reality. Romeo leapt from the bed, sending the covers askew. Not the lark; I begged it not to be. Daylight was not yet breaking.

_Somehow I know that we can't wake again_

"Oh, wilt thou be gone? It is not yet near day. It was the nightingale, and not the lark, that pierced the fearful hollow of thine ear," I cooed, pulling at him, trying to bring him back to the peaceful haven we had created. "Nightly she sings on yonder pomegranate tree. Believe me, love, it was the nightingale," I tried to assure him.

_From this dream;_

Romeo's eyes were large and sad as they met mine, the only part of him he could afford to keep at peace and intimacy as he struggled to pull his clothes on again. "It was the lark, the herald of the morn, no nightingale. Look, love, what envious streaks do lace the severing clouds in yonder east. Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day stands tiptoe on the misty mountaintops." He finished buttoning his shirt and kissed my forehead, explaining earnestly, "I must be gone and live, or stay and die."

I pulled some of the sheets around me and stood up, too rushed to bother to dress myself. I didn't want it to be true. "Yond light is not daylight, I know it, I. It is some meteor that the sun exhaled to be to thee this night a torchbearer and light thee on thy way to Mantua." I rushed to his side, the sheets trailing behind me like an awkward wedding veil. "Therefore stay yet. Thou needst not to be gone." I put my hand on his shoulder and looking longingly into his eyes.

He put his hand to my cheek and smiled. "Let me be ta'en; let me be put to death. I am content, so thou wilt have it so. I'll say yon grey is not the morning's eye; 'tis but the pale reflex of Cynthia's brow. Nor that is not the lark whose notes do beat the vaulty heaven so high above our heads." He wrapped his arm around my shoulder, pulling me in tight. "I have more care to stay than will to go. Come death, and welcome. Juliet wills it so," he smiled at me. "How is't, my soul? Let's talk. It is not day."

_It's not real,_

Yet behind him came the devilish tendril of morning light across the fields, the prelude to sunrise, clear as day. I felt my heart falling.

"It is, it is! Hie hence, be gone, away!" I cried, pushing at him hurriedly. "It is the lark that sings so out of tune, straining harsh discords and unpleasing sharps. Some say the lark makes clean sweet division. This doth not so, for she divideth us. Some say the lark and loathed toad have changed eyes. Oh, now I would they had changed voices, too! Since arm from arm that voice doth us affray, hunting thee hence with hunt's-up to the day. Oh, now be gone! More light and light it grows!"

"More light and light, more dark and dark our woes!" He quickly seized his hat and sword in one hand and drew me in to kiss with the other. I embraced him, wishing once again that I could simply become him and never have to worry about parting from him ever again.

_But it's ours._

Nurse arrived, knocking sharply at the door. "Madam!"

"Nurse?"

"Your lady mother is coming to your chamber. The day is broke; be wary; look about!"

_Maybe tonight,_

I peered up at Romeo, who still held me close. I pulled away, so reluctantly but no full well the price if I did not, and flew to the open balcony. "Then, window, let day in, and let life out!" I cried, motioning to the garden below.

Romeo followed me quickly. "Farewell, farewell. One kiss and I'll descend." We did. I knew I would only miss him the more because of it.

_We'll fly so far away,_

He mounted the balcony ledge and was ready to leap to the grounds below. "Art thou gone so?" I asked pitiably, my only dressing still my sheets, my hair tousled about my shoulders, my eyes wide and sad. "Love, lord, ay husband, friend! I must hear from thee every day in the hour, for in a minute there are many days. Oh, by this count I shall be much in years ere I again behold my Romeo!"

He peered up at me, clinging fast to the rope, promising, "Farewell. I will omit no opportunity that may convey my greetings, love, to thee."

_We'll be lost before the dawn._

Even his written word was little consol to me. My heart began to ache once again. This was my love, leaving . . . gone . . .

"Oh, think'st thou we shall ever meet again?" I cried. The wind was blowing now out towards the field, rushing away as Romeo was rushing from me.

_Maybe tonight,_

"I doubt it not," he assured me, still dangling from the rope, "and all these woes shall serve for sweet discourses in our times to come."

_We'll fly so far away,_

"Oh God, I have an ill-divining soul!" I felt tears brimming up in my eyes. The morning light was playing havoc with my sight. "Methinks I see thee, now thou art so low, as one dead in the bottom of a tomb. Either my eyesight fails, or thou lookest pale."

Romeo was still near enough he could touch my hand, yet his was cold and sent shudders through me. I almost wished he hadn't. "And trust me, love, in my eye so do you. Dry sorrow drinks our blood." He descended. "Adieu, adieu!" He was gone.

_We'll be lost before the dawn._


	2. Whisper: Act IV, Scene III

I am not Shakespeare. I am not Evanescence. I hate to break it to you, but Shakespeare would not be around to be writing this, because he is dead-- you know, like (spoiler alert for a completely unrelated story) Sirius Black. Not just hiding. Not lingering alive beyond the veil. Not waiting in Stonehenge. Not even in a random Tennessee bathroom (like Elvis . . . ???). Just dead. It's a very sad thing for both of them, of course. It makes me teary sometimes. Okay, not really. I don't know why I am venting this to you. This has nothing to do with anything. I am going to get on with the story now.

* * *

_Catch me as I fall.  
_  
My mother and the nurse were gone. I was left standing at the window, staring out into the grey evening sky. I was all alone now. Alone to carry out my plan.  
  
Yet now I was scared beyond belief.  
  
"I have a faint cold fear thrills through my veins that almost freezes up the heat of life."  
  
_Say you're here and it's all over now._  
  
I didn't want to do it. I wanted out. "I'll call them back again to comfort me--" I wanted to curl up and cry like a little baby against my nurse and mother, have them forgive me for everything, for real . . . have everything be perfect again.  
  
"Nurse!"  
  
I stopped. "What should she do here? My dismal scene I needs must act alone."  
  
Alone. I wanted Romeo here beside me more than ever-- ironic, how to be with him I must carry out an action I needed him to be with me as I performed.  
  
_Speaking to the atmosphere._  
  
I clasped my hands together, beseeching God in the clouds to help me carry it out. He was all I had now.  
  
_No one's here and I fall into myself._  
  
I felt nothing. I was really, truly alone.  
  
_This truth drives me into madness.  
_  
"Come, vial."  
  
I reached for the vial within my bag. I felt the cool crystal glass in my hands, so sharp and cruel even to the touch.  
  
_I know I can stop the pain if I will it all away . . ._   
  
I raised the vial and peered into the liquid inside: an amber fluid with a sickly yellow tint, thin and watery, yet so potent.  
  
_. . . if I will it all away._  
  
So much depended on that potion. How easily it could go wrong.  
  
_Don't turn away . . ._   
  
"What if this mixture do not work at all? Shall be married then tomorrow morning?"  
  
_. . . don't give into the pain._  
  
"No, no, this shall forbid it. Lie thou there." I dug further within my bag and pulled out my dagger. I laid it on the bed beside me, in close reach. It seemed almost easier to die than to carry out this plan. Yet I had to-- or I would die.  
  
_Don't try to hide . . ._   
  
"What if it be a poison, which the Friar subtly hath ministered to have me dead, lest in this marriage he should be dishonored, because he married me before to Romeo?" My fingers were growing sweaty on the glass. The liquid inside looked so pernicious.  
  
_. . . though they're screaming your name._  
  
"I fear it is. And yet methinks it should not, for he hath still been tried a holy man." I patted my heaving breast, reminding myself that Friar Lawrence had his best intentions, that he had wanted to help me, to turn "our households' rancor to pure love."  
  
_Don't close your eyes . . .   
_  
The plan was simple. I trusted it. I would simply go to sleep, never feeling a thing, and wake up . . .   
  
_. . . God knows what lies behind them._  
  
In the tomb. It never mattered what happened between now and then, for I would not feel a thing. Yet . . .   
  
"How if, when I am laid onto the tomb, I wake before the time that Romeo come to redeem me? There's a fearful point."  
  
_Don't turn out the light . . ._   
  
"Shall I not then be stifled in the vault, to whose foul mouth no healthsome air breathes in, and there die strangled ere my Romeo come?"   
  
_. . . never sleep, never die._  
  
I could feel it . . . the stifling air of the tomb, the cold, wet walls, the deadly silence. My throat was tightening with the very idea.  
  
_I'm frightened by what I see,_  
  
"Or, if I live, is it not the very like the horrible conceit of death and night, together with the terror of the place-- as in a vault, an ancient receptacle where for these many hundred years the bones of all my buried ancestors are packed." I saw bones, piled around on stone biers, bloodied sheets, even--  
  
_But somehow I know there's much more to come._  
  
"Where bloody Tybalt, yet green in earth, lies festering in his shroud." His body would just be starting to decay, only three days old . . . there would be blood from his wounds, a rotting smell. My stomach heaved.  
  
_Immobilized by my fear,_  
  
"Where, as they, at some hours of the night, spirits resort." Tybalt was so newly dead. Did he know of my love for Romeo? Would he raise himself up when his murderer arrived?  
  
_And soon to be blinded by tears._  
  
I couldn't help it; I was so afraid. Tears were welling in my eyes. My hands were shaking.  
  
_I know I can stop the pain if I will it all away . . ._   
  
It was just as Friar Lawrence had thought. I was being weak and womanish. I forced the tears from my eyes.  
  
_Don't turn away . . ._   
  
Yet the bad thoughts still played.  
  
_. . . don't give into the pain._  
  
I was sure now that I was going to wake up and find no Romeo to retrieve me. I was positive. I believed it so hard I knew it was true.  
  
_Don't try to hide . . .   
_  
"Alack, alack, is it not like that I, so early waking, what with loathsome smells and shrieks like mandrakes torn out of the earth, that living mortals hearing them run mad?"  
  
_. . . though they're screaming your name._  
  
"Or, if I wake, shall I not be distraught, environed by all these hideous fears?"  
  
_Don't close your eyes . . ._   
  
" And madly play with my forefathers' joints?"  
  
_. . . God knows what lies behind them._  
  
"And pluck the mangled Tybalt from his shroud?"  
  
_Don't turn out the light . . ._   
  
I was going mad. I wasn't going to be able to control myself. If the plan didn't work, I would die. I would worse than die. I was going to wake to find a dead man on top of me, or see the shroud slide away from Tybalt. I wasn't going to be able to stand it.  
  
_. . . never sleep, never die._  
  
"And, in this rage, with some great kinsman's bone, dash out my desperate brains?"  
  
_Fallen angels at my feet._  
  
It was as if I were already mad. I could see the entire scene in my mind's eye, the shrouds, the bones . . .   
  
_Whispered voices at my ear._  
  
The spirits . . .   
  
_Death before my eyes,_   
  
Tybalt wanted revenge for his dishonorable murder . . .   
  
_Lying next to me I fear._  
  
He was coming for Romeo.  
  
_She beckons me; shall I give in?_  
  
"Oh look! Methinks I see my cousin's ghost, seeking out Romeo that did spit his body upon a rapier's point!"  
  
_Upon my end shall I begin?_  
  
I could see him there, a full figure, real as could be, right before me . . . beckoning me . . . he wanted vengeance . . .   
  
_Forsaking all I've fallen for,_  
  
"Stay, Tybalt, stay!" I slammed my eyes shut to ward him off.  
  
_I rise to meet the end._  
  
"Romeo, Romeo, Romeo!" I chanted the name as a conjuration to block my dead cousin's ghost out. "I come! Here's a drink; this I do drink to thee!"  
  
_Don't turn away . . ._   
  
The vial touched my lips, and the draught poured in.  
  
_. . . don't give into the pain._  
  
It was sickly sweet, running down my throat in burning rivulets, settling in my stomach. I choked and coughed it down, letting it take over me.  
  
_Don't try to hide . . .   
_  
It tightened my innards, stopped my blood . . .   
  
_. . . though they're screaming your name._  
  
I could feel my extremities going to tingling, then to numb . . .   
  
_Don't close your eyes . . ._   
  
My eyes were heavy, my head sore and thick.  
  
_. . . God knows what lies behind them._  
  
My body swayed . . .   
  
_Don't turn out the light . . ._   
  
With the last inklings of consciousness, I stuffed the vial under my pillow . . .   
  
_. . . never sleep, never die._  
  
. . . and fell against the bed.  
  
_Don't turn away._  
  
The blackness that engulfed me swum.  
  
_Don't try to hide._  
  
I could see flickering lights of yellows and purples.  
  
_Don't close your eyes._  
  
My body was motionless, my countenance set.  
  
_Don't turn out the light._  
  
I had either won or died.  
  
_Servatis a Periculum . . .   
  
Servatis a Maleficum . . ._


	3. Even in Death: Act V, Scene III

I am not Shakespeare. I am not Evanescence. I love them both very dearly and hope they will not sue me, because that might seriously undermine my liking for them (then again . . . if Shakespeare pops out of his grave to sue me, I might be a little flattered, because that would take some kind of crazy effort).

* * *

Consciousness came back to me slowly. I felt a tingling warmth in my limbs as my blood began to flow again. My head felt heavy and thick, much worse than waking from simple sleep-- the Friar had lied. The first sense I possessed was hearing. I could hear the crypt around me, the water dripping off stone walls, the hollow whistling of wind within the cavernous hollow of the tomb. Gradually, I opened my eyes, allowing my heavy eyelids to lift and reveal the dim light of the Capulet monument. First it was only light, then it faded into actual visuals of the carved ceiling above. I swiped my deadened tongue around the inside of my mouth. It was completely dry, tasting faintly of the sickly-sweet potion. I parted my parched lips and sucked in a deep breath, my lungs filling fast with the air so long vanished from within them. My chest heaved and I was lifted slightly, coughing and hacking as if I would die from such a life-giving thing.  
  
I heard the Friar's voice. "The lady stirs," he said nervously, as if to someone else.  
  
I pushed myself up, feeling the still-slow blood quicken with the fast motion. I sat teetering on the end of the cold, hard bier, my back aching from the uncomfortable sleep, my head swaying with lack of breath and blood. Yet still I could make out the Friar standing with Balthasar, Romeo's servant. Romeo was not there, but his man was. "Oh, comfortable Friar," I said softly. "Where is my lord?" I peered around the tomb, seeing only graves and sheets and biers-- one a bit bloody, that made my already-weak stomach heave-- Tybalt's. "I do remember well where I should be, and there I am. Where is my Romeo?"  
  
_Give me a reason to believe that you're gone._  
  
Friar Lawrence stared at me as if I were a ghost. There was a sudden clambor outside the chamber, and it made him jump. "I hear some noise," he said, eyes wide as a cornered animal. He beckoned towards me, "Lady, come from that nest of death, contagion, and unnatural sleep."  
  
_I see your shadow so I know they're all wrong._  
  
He looked up at the ceiling, but I knew he was not looking at the carvings. "Some greater power than we can contradict hath thwarted our intents." He beckoned again, consolingly, but in great anxiety. He even came forward and seized my shoulder, pulling me, as if trying to keep me from seeing something over my left shoulder. "Come, come away."  
  
_Moonlight on the soft brown earth,_  
  
I tried to pull away and see what it was he was trying to hide. His fearful countenance was making me frightened as well-- the tomb, the bodies, the noise . . . I wanted out. He pulled and pulled, trying to bring me along. Where was Romeo? Why was Balthasar here, and yet not my husband? My mind was spinning; I had still not quite woken up. It was too much. I struggled; I wanted an explanation. I wanted to know what was going on. The Friar sighed and let drop his arm from my shoulder. He pointed to what was hidden.  
  
_It leads me to where you lay._  
  
"Thy husband in thy bosom there lies dead, and Paris, too." He motioned to my side. There he lay. Just beside my bier, flat on the floor, his chest still and his lips pale.  
  
_They took you away from me,_  
  
He was dead.  
  
_But now I'm taking you home._  
  
I could only stand and stare, feeling as if the blood had once again stopped within my fragile body. His was equally frail, now: motionless, lifeless, gone from Romeo . . . I couldn't believe it, it couldn't be true. I tore my arm from the Friar's grip and flung myself on him.  
  
_I will stay forever here with you,_  
  
I wrapped my arms around him, tilted his face up towards mine. He couldn't be gone, he couldn't be. We were going to Mantua together. I had woken up, he was here, the Friar was here, the plan had worked.  
  
_My love.  
_  
His body did not yet feel dead. It was heavy, but warm. I could have sworn I still felt blood flowing through his veins.  
  
_Those softly spoken words you gave me:_  
  
My husband couldn't be dead. We had been married only three days.  
  
_"Even in death our love goes on."_  
  
I stared into his perfect face. I knew he was gone.  
  
_Some say I'm crazy for my love,_  
  
The Friar came and touched my shoulder hesitantly. "Come, I'll dispose of thee among a sisterhood of holy nuns. Stay not to question, for the watch is coming." He was panting. His soft touch changed to fearful shaking. "Come, go, good Juliet. I dare no longer stay."  
  
_Oh, my love.  
_  
I stared down at the face of my Romeo, no longer even aware of his pleas and shaking. He was waiting for me, he was right here beside me.  
  
_But no thoughts can hold me from your side,_  
  
I flung his hand from my shoulder. "Go, get thee hence, for I will not away!" I cried.   
  
_Oh, my love._  
  
I would not leave him, ever.  
  
_They don't know you can't leave me._  
  
The Friar took one last pitying look at me and scarpered.  
  
_They don't hear you singing to me._  
  
I pulled Romeo closer to me. He was all I had left now.  
  
_I will stay forever here with you,_  
  
I pulled back from my love, surveying his body. How had died? How had we come so close and yet been thwarted? My eyes fell on the reason.  
  
_My love._  
  
"What's here? A cup closed in my true love's hand?" I felt my heart catch. "Poison, I see, hath been his timeless end."  
  
_Those softly spoken words you gave me:_  
  
I lifted the cup, gingerly pulling it from his stiffening fingers. It was empty. I could not even go with him. "Oh, churl!" I whispered, feeling tears coming to my eyes. I scolded him, as if he were alive, willing him to be so. "Drunk all, and left no friendly drop to help me after?"  
  
_"Even in death our love goes on."_  
  
I had to go with him. He couldn't leave for anywhere without me, not Mantua, not even the beyond. There had to be a way. "I will kiss thy lips," I choked. "Haply some poison yet doth hang on them, to make me die with a restorative."  
  
_And I can't love you anymore than I do._  
  
I pressed my lips to his, kissing him, longing to feel the push of his lips back, the movement of them beneath mine. I seemed to come close; his lips felt alive, not yet cold and dead. I wanted them to come to life beneath mine. Nothing came. I forced harder, as if I were trying to breathe life back into him, give him a piece of my soul so that he would live, or, at the very least, allow him to suck out mine for me so that he would have it and I would not have to die alone.  
  
"Thy lips are warm," I breathed.  
  
I drew back, still as alive as ever. I tasted no poison; I felt no killing draught. I was alone again.  
  
"Lead, boy. Which way?" There was more noise, growing nearer, from outside the tomb. It was building; the Friar had done well to run off.  
  
I did not have to worry about escaping.   
  
"Yea, noise? Then I'll be brief."  
  
I looked about Romeo for a cure, an escape. I saw his dagger, tucked into his belt. It would serve.  
  
_I will stay forever here with you,_  
  
I raised the knife, trying to aim the point at my most vulnerable middle. Would it hurt when I died? Would I linger on? Could I kill myself in one stroke, one breath?  
  
_My love._  
  
Would I see Romeo when I died?  
  
Those softly spoken words you gave me:  
  
The knife was so sharp, so unnatural to be thrust into my human skin. I was afraid-- and yet, nothing could stop me now. This was the only choice.  
  
_"Even in death our love goes on."_  
  
I took one last, loving look at Romeo, determined to make him the last thing I ever saw.  
  
_And I can't love you any more than I do._  
  
"Oh, happy dagger, this is thy sheath. There rust, and let me die!"  
  
I thrust the knife into my middle, feeling the forceful ripping my flesh and tissues. I was stabbed in the stomach; my insides constricted. I felt myself falling forward as a hot wetness issued over my hands, still clutching the knife. I held it there, held it fast, and forced my eyes into my love's face. He was so perfect in death, so peaceful, and soon I would be there at peace with him.  
  
His face began to fade. The room began to sway. My hands fell away from the knife, and I felt my careening body softly land upon his, my warm blood spreading over him, engulfing him. My face was just beside his, and I was inches from his lips, yet too weak to kiss him once more. I could only gaze with my weakening eyes.  
  
His face faded. Black overtook. My head snapped downward against him, and I lost to death once more.  
  
There was nothing more to hold us back. I was finally with Romeo.  
  
_We may die, but we are lovers forever._

* * *

And right here would make an awesome spot for the "Anywhere" reprise-- if you've heard it, the little minute-long addition to the song with no singing? I can see like the tomb lighting up as that fades in, and it's all connecting to the original marriage theme? I should make a music video . . . 


End file.
